Yokai Manor
by InuYaoi
Summary: Yokai Manor has never failed to rid demons of evil spirits—that is until a Daiyoukai arrives at its gates seeking asylum. After years of treatment, it is believed he is beyond help. But a new hire, a Miko with a most extraordinary ability, just might risk her life to save him. (Revised)
1. Prologue - The Good Demon

****Caution: Darkness ahead****

 **OoOoOoOoO**

 ** **Tokyo, Japan****

 ** **June 13th, 1998****

Ominous storm clouds churned above a group of children as they sped over the neglected grass of Yoi Orphanage. It was the only home most had ever known, and sadly, what most would likely ever know. But Ignorance was bliss, and the children had laid down the weight of their grim reality. In the meantime, until their statistical probability, games needed playing and muscles needed stretching, and all participated.

All saving one.

The resident black sheep was not permitted to join in with the other children. Shunned by her peers for her strange mannerisms, it was treatment the frail girl was accustomed to. Alternatively, she busied herself with a game of jacks a reasonable distance away on the far outmost edge of the property, the extent of which any of the youngsters could stray.

"Come children!" A senior matron beckoned. "Let us wash before dinner."

Jolting at the call, the girl moved quickly. If slow to make haste, there would be no share of bread for her—the most reliably edible share of her meals. Scrambling onto her feet, hurriedly, she gathered the small metal bits and turned to run, but in her peckish urgency, she dropped the tiny rubber ball.

The child let out a plaintive whine as she watched her vibrant, blue ball bounce beyond where she was allowed to venture. She lingered at the edge of the sidewalk, hesitant to retrieve one of the few items she could genuinely call hers.

"Ball, you mustn't go over the curb!"

"Rin," the caretaker's authoritative voice rang. Rin turned and stared down the stretch of the dry estate. "Supper is not a suggestion." The matron's forewarning corroborated with what the child had been wise to.

"Yes, Soto-san," she strained merrily, resisting her rising fret, "Rin is coming!"

Shifting anxiously on her scrawny, mosquito-bitten legs, the girl waited until Soto-san concentrated on the clambering children. Opportunity chanced itself, and Rin reverted to the ball and saw that the brown loafers of a tall man had stopped its escape.

His sudden arrival startled her. Rin was sure he hadn't been there before. Her eyes cast down the street, seeking a logical explanation of his coming.

She shrugged and beamed the brightest of smiles at him, and with a friendly wave, she said, "Hello, Mister. Could you do Rin a favor and retrieve that ball for me? Rin is not allowed to take even the tiniest of steps beyond—" She waned as she marked an invisible line with her foot. "... there, and I am sure to become most melancholy without it."

A silent gaze lowered to the object of her desire.

"Yes! That ball right there," Rin coached. Delighted, she squealed and clasped her hands together as the mute figured moved. So strong was her elation that not only did she dismiss the man's otherly features, she also dismissed his starchy gait. She gasped. "Not a mister but a _youkai_. Why are you in our side of town, Mr. Demon?"

Forgoing words, the demon followed Rin's next move—her small hand shoving forward and dangling expectantly between them. His own advanced, trembling and dwarfing hers. She eyed him curiously as her property was released into her custody.

"Why do you shake? It's too hot to shiver."

He did not speak.

"No, far too hot to be cold," Rin digressed, jumping to her next hypothesis. "Are you are afraid of humans?"

He did not speak.

"Soto-san has told Rin that I should fear demons because they are bad and scary."

He did not speak.

"But Rin does not think you are scary or bad. Rin does think you are pretty and good."

He did not speak.

"Mm-hmm. Yup," she nodded, "you retrieved Rin's ball. That means you're a good demon. Right?"

He answered with a nod of his own, pulling an even brighter smile from her until his neck cracked most disgustingly. A 'yes' abruptly morphed into a 'no.' Rin bristled at the harrowing display. She withdrew knowing necks weren't supposed to bend in that way, nor were eyes supposed to appear as depthless holes.

And too, like her jacks and ball, the child's blood-curdling screams were hers and hers alone.

 ** **A/N: REVISED 1/26/19****

 _ _My apologies if you liked what was originally written. I didn't like the direction this story was taking and how wordy it was. The pace was slow too. The first several chapters haven't changed much, but they were polished and severely cut.__


	2. Chains of Subjugation

****OoOoOoOoOoO****

A crack of lightning flashed the night aglow.

Speeding through the torrential downpour, a black SUV crossed the open gated threshold leading into a Victorian style estate. The vehicle roared down the bumpy, unpaved path, ricocheting gravel, taxing its suspension bearings to their engineered limit and all but tossing the warring inhabitants out the back window.

Inside, smeared and spread out onto the leather, was blood and ongoing chaos. Sesshomaru's chest heaved and hitched as he struggled against the claws of his parents who worked in tandem to restrain him. Inu no Taisho commanded the most dangerous end while Inukimi held fast to his powerful legs. If they were anything less than Daiyoukai an undertaking such as that wouldn't have been possible.

"Fight!" Toga pled to his son. "You must fight it!"

"What's wrong with his f—"

An abrupt stop violently hurled three inuyoukai from the back seat to the carpeted floor. Had the driver's and passenger's seat not interfered, all save for the strapped in chauffeur would've launched through the windshield and out onto the hood.

"Toga!"

Wedged between the center console and the base of the three seater, Toga was burdened by the full weight of his family. His position precarious, Inukimi pulling and screaming, he took his palm to Sesshomaru's forehead to prevent him from taking a bite out of his face.

Beady eyes rounded the driver's seat.

"My apologies, milord. I—"

" _Jaken_ ," Toga grit looking up fearsome hardware, "the door!"

"At once!" The imp threw the driver's door open and jumped into the pouring rain.

The cabin rocked and swayed, the chassis creaked and groaned—the fight continuing the instant the stout demon made landing. Inukimi's shrieks superseded the furor of rising riot and the eerie drone of queer snarls.

It nearly granted Jaken with the gift of flight.

Gangly claws reached for the handle and withdrew when a brown loafer smashed through the window. The retainer lurched, shielding his face with the sleeve of his custom-made suit jacket. Upon opening them, the two-ton vehicle idled ten yards from where it was left neutral, its high beams shining brightly on the sanctuary's reinforced doors.

The heavens opened wide, and the storm raged.

"Ja-ken, t-he do-or!" Inukimi bleat, batting down on her touched son. Her nascent hysterics were on the fringe of emergence now that claws tore through her mate's Armani suit. Flesh wounds were the least of his worries, not with snapping jaws a sobering hairbreadth away. Not to mention leverage had been poorly paid to Inukimi, placing too awkward and confined to reel Sesshomaru off his father.

She tried anyway. Unsure if her claws caught on flesh or cashmere in the process.

His arms trembling, Toga frantically scanned the vehicle for something strong enough to defy the fangs of an Inuyoukai. What could prove useful barely clung to his son.

Outside, a soaked little youkai recovered from his glass shower. He blurred to rejoin his task of opening the door, rushing to the quaking SUV, his ugly hand on the cusp of grabbing the handle.

" _The fur—take it between his teeth!"_

The car door detonated the instant Jaken touched it, and a writhing triad of dogs spilled onto the wet gravel. The force was so mighty it blew the door off its hinge and sent him and the hunk of metal flying across the yard. The imp was unconscious before his skull bounced off the ground.

Sesshomaru didn't take kindly to be muzzled.

Her back had padded their fall, and now it was Inukimi's turn to fight from the bottom. Through her butchered shrieking, Sesshomaru's smothered and demented growls, she gave every bit of her absolute all. Her hold was weary, yet ironclad, notwithstanding her son's crazed lunging and outstretched claws keen for his father. She held on for his sake. Toga had been shrugged from the fray and lay upended sprawled out next to her. Swift to his feet, he threw himself back into the brawl.

There was more space to fight with, more room for grappling. The wet pelt draped lifelessly around he who was disturbed, abandoned in favor of his hair—at which Toga snatched and yanked.

Soaked to the bone in her torn designer dress, Inukimi converged onto his legs again. Claws full, someone or some imp had another door to open.

"Jaken!" Rain pummeled Toga's face. The downpour was so heavy he swore it came from underneath. "JAKEN!" That's when he saw Jaken outspread and trapped under the warped door in a state of utter uselessness.

As Sesshomaru's effort grew monstrous, the struggle pitched. Rolling and wrestling, and with gravel wedged in crevices it had no business being, Toga straddled the back of what now bucked like an unbroken stallion. Silver sloshed, blurring in every direction, catching behind knees and twisting necks into sick contortions. Control lessened with every manic wrench, grips loosened, claws slipped, then, a yelp as a liberated leg cocked and blitzkrieged Inukimi into the vehicle's side panel.

"Inukimi!"

Her injuries were minor, but the same couldn't be said about her emotional state. She peeled herself from the car and crawled back to her son. Before him, she lowered onto her haunches and gazed defeatedly into an empty hollow that once favored her shade of amber.

His was a stranger's face.

"Sesshomaru," she pined. How she ached. Her chest was tight and on the verge of imploding. The universe wanted her to accept the severity of his delirium when all she saw was her beloved son.

She wanted him to speak, wanted to hear his cool baritone—

His response was a snarl that bordered amid neurotic and cadaverous, as if emulated through a vector. Unnatural, spine-chilling— _heartbreaking_. It claimed the lump in his mother's throat, and after taking in a series of shuddered breaths, she started to sob.

His body swaying against madness, solemnly, Toga took in the horror around him.

He had no other choice.

"Asylum!" He roared into the night.

 ** **OoOoOoOoOoO****

The bright, fluorescent lighting lent the barren hallway a sterile appearance—much like the long scrub dress Kikyo wore. Walking to the central office, she fussed her hair into a loose ponytail. Between her teeth was a comb clip, her most favorite. It was a sacred heirloom that had belonged to a senior priestess who had a hand in her training. When the old miko retired she gifted it to Kikyo; an ivory comb adorned with a cherry blossom that encased a sparkling pink jewel in its petals. Satisfied with her grooming, she stuffed it in her breast pocket and headed eastward.

White reeboks thudded across freshly waxed tiles as she rounded one corner, then another, past the recreation room's locked doors whose mounted 19" Panasonic cast the dim space in a weak glow, and through steel double doors that led into a corridor dubbed the "promised land" by the personnel.

The promised land is a hall no youkai can venture through without approved passage—an immunity sutra found on the back of employee I.D. cards. Most demon employees have one, but most avoid the area.

The hall was incorporated into the floorplan by design after the original building was destroyed in a terrible war, by a country that needs no mention. A panic route of sorts, also the front line of the resident staff dormitories, if conditions dired employees could escape into the hallway from any of the four crossroading wings.

The North Wing houses the general brunt of demons afflicted by heck. Moderately aggressive, treatment there is gradual lest the purification power of monk and miko kill the cursed along with the troubling spirit. Most are moved to the South Wing within a year or two.

The South Wing harbors the most docile of patients. Heavily medicated and non-violent, the youkai residing there are either free from perturbing spirits or are well on their way. Occasionally, demons suffering from mental disorders are transferred to Yokai Manor when beds are unavailable elsewhere. The youkai in this strip seldom keep a room for more than a year.

The East Wing is a massive corridor that the residents from the North—behavior depending—and South congregate. The common area of the estate, and where most of the personnel roam at any given moment, the rec, cafeteria, bathing facilities, and visitor's lounge are located there. It's also where most patients queue up for medication.

The West Wing, unaffectionately nicknamed The Wild West, holds the smallest but most dangerous population of demons. Rehabilitation there is a crawl. What ravages these patients beckons for higher power at steady, continuous doses. Under no circumstances are they allowed into the common areas. Only monk and miko embark there alone. All others require a holy escort.

Kikyo opened the door to find Miroku sitting behind an exquisitely handcrafted desk, elbow deep in paperwork. His black garb was similar to hers but masculine in style, the length of his robe stopping at his knees.

Gold bands jangled from under his sleeves as he brought one weary hand to his temple. "Thank you for coming in on a Saturday night, Kikyo. I tried all of Tsubaki's contact numbers, but she hasn't got back to me."

"Mm-hmm," she acknowledged knowingly, punching her timecard. There wasn't a chance in hell Tsubaki would be caught dead at work on the weekend. "I take it Master Mushin left early for a drunken day on the course?"

"Early?" He blew through his lips. "He never came in. I've been sitting here for hours authorizing release forms, paying vendors—and the meat vendor didn't deliver yesterday. Can you believe that?" He sighed. "And weekends are supposed to be easy around here."

"I imagine the resident members of Carnivora aren't too pleased with an extra ration of starch."

"No, they are not," Miroku said, chuckling.

"Shall we make our rounds then?"

"Of course. Your pick."

"I want to get the South out of the way."

The sanctified made quick work of the South Wing. No outspoken souls ghouled worrying the patients in their respective rooms; the sutras attached to their doors enchanting at full power.

Sutras offered a number of services. The charms held youkai to their rooms and subdued most demon abilities. To what degree depended upon the individual. This suppression reverberated throughout the entire building, and like the blessings on the door, the facility itself required the collective Reiki of all who were divine to cleanse all.

The pair was leaving the South when a raccoon dog drew up his privacy shade. His taps on the glass got their attention. Distressed, he issued a formal complaint about his neighbor's racket, and how his moaning kept him up at night. Miroku investigated the problem, but no sooner did he open the offender's door did he slam it shut, blowing back his hair.

That patient, a macaque, was not possessed, merely a schizophrenic who also suffered from chronic masturbation.

"God be holy water for my eyes."

"And for those sheets," Kikyo giggled. "I feel like the West. Ready?"

"The prospect of being told to go screw myself is just what I need right now."

Out of the South and into the heart of the interjecting wings, they traveled down the hall that would lead to the West Wing.

Suddenly, Kikyo stopped, and Miroku looked at her questioningly.

"What is it?"

Arched brows drew together. "Do you hear that?"

He strained to hear, but only silence stretched down the Pine-Sol scented corridor. "Nope."

"Exactly."

"Hunh. Now that you mention it—"

" _Asylum!"_

Miroku spun around. "Okay, that I did hear."

 ** **OoOoOoOoO****

Double doors unceremoniously swung open.

Kikyo and Miroku, blinded by headlamps, shielded their eyes as they stepped out of the beams and into dual darkness. What they saw stunned them, but what they felt, the other dark, explained why the building had stilled. Unfathomable malevolency, a spirit in crisis. Its heinous aura hushed what resided inside, as if evil sought salvation from it.

There was no time for 'who are you's' or other questions like 'Visa or Mastercard.' Only action. For through the anguished cries and growls this task would require advanced techniques and tools. Together, sanctity combined.

"I'm going to need your help with this one."

Kikyo was locked to what waged ahead. "Say the word."

The monk engaged first.

He pulled a sutra from his robe, his voice booming, "Step aside from he who is cursed!" And before it was thrown at the embodiment of Hell, he extended it to Kikyo. "Hit me!"

The will of the Kamigami sparked from her hand, her power transferring to the enchantment and igniting once black and bold kanji ablaze with pink. Then, running, and just as Toga sprang out of dodge, Miroku launched the sutra at Sesshomaru before he had the opportunity to stand. The charm bound to the demon's forehead, out from under his robe came a small scepter, shining brilliantly as it morphed into a full sized staff. He called to a spiritual force, which came forth surging white as he cracked the dog upside the head and knocked him stiff on his back.

Sighing, Miroku transformed his holy weapon to its idle form and knelt over what was smote. The sutra was stretched across the length of the demon's face.

Time for questions.

Blinking the rain from his eyes, the monk focused on the dripping youkai. What a state they were in. The male, physically, was a shredded wreck, the female, a blubbering one. He could hardly see their faces; silver covered their features.

"Greetings, good demons," he started carefully as Kikyo migrated to his side. "I'm sorry you had to witness that..." He paused when the larger of the two embraced the other. "Please, if you can, tell me what led to this."

Both spoke at once. Something about a Ningen child and a distorted face, but that couldn't have been so. No pestering spirit was so wicked that it coerced its host to attack humans, and indeed not children. Kikyo's and Miroku's trade was a dying one. Old as religion itself; the vilest of spirits already vanquished.

"Please, slow down. I don't understand." Exorcisms aside, dealing with family was the hardest element of his work, but he handled these with utmost tact. His holymanship was complaint free.

Nagged by something, Kikyo studied the parents and stiffened. "Excuse me, I can't begin to imagine the pain you are going through, but it is imperative for me to ask this of you. If I were to refer to you as a great dog demon, would that be appropriate?"

Dejected, Toga said, "... we are Daiyoukai."

The holy snapped to each other as if they both heard tamming from the same gong. This was a first. Daiyoukai at their gates.

Letting out a heavy breath, Kikyo took to the burden of explaining. "You see—"

"What is he doing?!" Shrieked Inukimi.

Sesshomaru jerked so sharply that his head was slow to keep up. He swayed limp-like, his movements favoring a marionette's as he ate the charm off his face.

Kikyo and Miroku were born for this work, chosen by the Kamigami and intended to complement one another. There was one more trick they had up their sleeves to hold Sesshomaru without out right purifying him.

"Kikyo." Miroku's tone hinted at a sentiment she had already considered. They faced each other in perfect sync, their hands spelling out "bind" in Kanji. A radiant bangle, pure, unadulterated divinity, materialized from nothing, thereto they each reached inside and brought with them chains so stunningly prismatic it dared to shine brighter than vehicle's headlights.

The chains throbbed with Reiki as it sought out what needed binding. Feet were tied first, then legs, until Sesshomaru was immobile from the chest down, his dangerous claws securely pinned to his body.

He, or rather _it_ , was nothing shy of incensed, if the long-drawn, banshee wail was any indication. A most hair-raising sound, it paired terribly with where his eyes should have been, for even chain's bright light couldn't penetrate the darkness in them.

Miroku froze. Sesshomaru's stare was an omen of great peril; all-consuming, and gaping into them conspired to induce insanity. There was a curl under his skin, and the Monk tore away when the urge to drag his face along the gravel buckled his knees.

"I didn't get your names," Miroku managed to say.

"My name is Inu no Taisho, and this is my mate, Inu—" Inukimi collapsed onto her knees. "Please, my love, stand up."

"I have no reason to stand."

"Inukimi…"

"I can't," she said brokenly. Toga put a tender hand on her shoulder.

"Inu no Taisho?" Kikyo wondered, her voice soft. "From Taisho Inc?"

"Yes, but do keep quiet about this..."

It was then Inukimi fell away from the world. If she listened, whatever slim chance at this all being a nightmare would be lost. She stared longingly at Sesshomaru. He lay a few yards away, the chains holding strong. He didn't move much, and it almost made him appear like himself.

" _... confidentiality,"_ said Kikyo. _"But what happened?"_

" _He savaged her..."_

While Kikyo and Miroku couldn't believe what they were hearing, Inukimi went unnoticed.

Something had changed.

Corruption dissipated from wild eyes, and amber gleamed and looked at her with undeniable clarity. He was there, conscious, his expression pitiful and afraid. Her heart split from the sight of him, from the Reiki constricting him, the rain beating against his pale skin.

"I'll fetch the muscle," Kikyo stated as she walked towards the building. That too was dismissed by Inukimi as she crept, but not by Sesshomaru.

The misery in his eyes said more than the words he could not speak. Gold trembled with a desperate plea. It fought him for his mind's eye, had seized and commanded his musings, and he worried if air hit his cords it would be a voice not his own.

On her hands and knees, painstakingly, Inukimi trudged towards him. There was only her son; the world faded away, the rain suspended in the air. There he was, her magnificent heir, tethered like an animal and not moving freely like the celestial he was. It destroyed her when she realized. If just for a moment, he was liberated from the rage within.

" _We'll call you first thing in the morning."_ Miroku shook Toga's hand and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. His expression softened. It was the hardest part of his job again. _"You might want to hold her back."_

Inukimi needed to touch him, needed to stroke his marked cheeks. That would help. She was sure of it. It was what he needed most while laying on his back with his world upside down, and she was bound to stroke his face when the clamor of the chains resumed the rain and yanked him under her fingertips. She lunged, but her husband's claws caught her. All she managed to grab was his waterlogged pelt. Tears burned as she watched two bears donned in scrubs hauling him away; his once glorious mane dragged through the dirt all the way to the double doors where Monk and Miko stood.

"Wait! His eyes—he's okay!"

"Inukimi—"

"No, they were gold… _gold_ ," she wailed. "At least give him his— _oh please_." Miroku and Kikyo took the door's handle, and an angry hurt exploded: "He's a dog, goddammit! He has to have it!"

The doors slammed shut.

"Oh, Toga." She turned to cry on his shoulder. Her shuddering worsened, and he squeezed her tighter. "Whoever heard of a dog without his fur?"

 ** **A/N: REVISED 1/27/19****


	3. The Dark Miko

__I never believed that I could save your soul.__

 _\- Kikyo_

 ** **OoOoOoOoO****

 **PATIENT NAME** : Sesshomaru Taisho **COMMITTED** :13-6-1998

 **GENDER** : Male **AGE:** 1004

 **CLASS** : Mammalia **ORDER** : Carnivora

 **FAMILY** : Canidae **GENUS:** Canis

 **SPECIES** : C. Lupus **SUBSPECIES** :Inu-Daiyokai

 **WEIGHT** : 85 kg **HEIGHT** : 193 cm

 **EYE COLOR** : Yellow/Gold **HAIR COLOR** : Silver/White

 ** **Symptom Checklist: (mark for any symptoms present)****

[ **X** ]Depressed mood [ **X** ] Sleep pattern disturbance [ **X** ] Fatigue

[ **X** ] Self harm [ ] Suicidal [ ] Decreased libido

[ ] Increased libido [ **X** ] Impulsivity [ **X** ] Aggression

[ **X** ] Concentration/forgetfulness [ **X** ] Hallucinations [ **X** ] Suspiciousness

[ **X** ] Paranoia [ **X** ] Avoidance [ **X** ] Dysarthria

[ ] Crying spells [ **X** ] Anxiety attacks [ **X** ] Decreased appetite

 ** **Reason for Referral/Committed for:**** Spiritual possession; fatally wounded 7 y/o human child.

 ** **Additional information:**** _ ** _Extremely_**_ dangerous. "Transcendental" attributes (Daiyoukai). Capable of inflicting catastrophic injury. Repression sutras must be active and at full capacity at all times. If handled sedation is highly recommended.

 ** **OoOoOoOoOoO****

W13 is located at the end of the West Wing. All rooms are reinforced in this corridor, but Sesshomaru's was spared no precaution. There were no windows facing the hall, the panes covered with slabs of steel. In fact, the only way to see into the room was through a small viewer that was typically kept shut. Even the room's single window was boarded and sealed with sutras from outside.

In hindsight, it didn't matter.

Sesshomaru was situated around a wall, his left arm chained to a swiveling loop embedded between his bed and the toilet. The tether was the only necessary evil in the room—for the personnel's sake. Though, for him, it was outrageous to heel at the end of a sacred leash.

At least it wasn't around his neck.

And he did prefer that arrangement to the setup he endured through his first few days. He had been bound spread eagle to a twin bed as staff figured out what combination of sutras worked best. How he abhorred being at the mercy of many. Legions of hands, claws, and talons had prodded and grabbed, assessing this, notating that, instigating him into a fit of retching and rage the more they handled. After liberating a hawk youkai from her talon, isopropyl assaulted his senses. A sharp prick relaxed his muscles, and moments later, the substance transported him to a mystical realm he never knew existed behind his lids.

He came to in a dim room wearing a hospital gown. The thin, seafoam-green cloth was all he wore, and a cold trickle of revulsion had coiled in his stomach. How many eyes slithered over his naked body that day?

Master Mushin's sutras were second to none.

Through many experimentations, it was discovered that Mushin-sama's sutras loosened the spirit's grip on Sesshomaru for considerable amounts of time, but only while he remained in W13 and with some limitations.

This was learned during his first week, over a series of days that nearly exhausted Tsubaki, his assigned Miko. But Master Mushin deemed her the superior for the endeavor. Tsubaki was more cunning than Kikyo, her Reiki more punishing than that of a conventional priestess. Which was crucial—Sesshomaru's youki was unlike anything known before. Other patients in the West Wing only required the use of two or three sutras but his door called for a staggering seven.

In spite of this, the charms failed to free his mind and tongue completely—the mentioned limitations. It did, however, reduce the likelihood of first-degree mania and allowed his consciousness to border on the fringe.

Sometimes he was observed tilting his head to something unseen, as if someone were speaking to him. When talked to Sesshomaru avoided eye contact, preferring to study the beige cinder blocks that made up his room. Ignoring others was a characteristic the aristocrat had developed prior, but this was different. He favored an autist, incapable of understanding why responding was justified.

But staff soon learned that his lack of words was not rooted snobbery or in some communicative disorder.

He was heard saying things on his fifth day.

During a scheduled wellness checkup, Tsubaki unlocked his door to find Sesshomaru whispering at the wall. Without pause, he intoned what sounded like the entire catalog of their language, and when called out to, he began to bang his head against the wall. Used to witnessing nervous episodes, Tsubaki watched him with abject apathy. She could only imagine the horror of his curse. No wonder bringing about a concussion was his escape of choice.

His Miko seemed the least affected by his turning. At times, she would even smirk at his twitching, darkly amused. Already, she had lost two assistants, the last telling Master Mushin she'd rather kiss the end of a shotgun than visit Dante's circle again. This suited Tsubaki just fine. She liked to work with him alone.

 ** **OoOoOoOoOoO****

 ** **West Wing, Yokai Manor****

 ** **Check-in not logged****

Sesshomaru did not care for his priestess, which was why he spat a colorful snarl as she entered his room.

The Miko didn't flinch. She shut the door.

The chain's glow provided enough light for human eyes to gaze upon the tall and weary demon, and as Tsubaki boldly approached, Sesshomaru stared her down, stressing the lead attached to his wrist. She may have looked the part of a saint with her hair gathered neatly in a bun, her white scrubs pristine, but the truth revealed itself in the sway of her hips.

"I don't like your stance. Sit down." There was something about the pride in his eyes. The Miko wanted to separate him from it. She knew of his background. His demeanor was a product of his environment. Distinction and old money can snood anyone, but like all others in the West Wing, he was stripped and bereaved all the same. "Be it the floor or the bed." She stopped shy of his reach, her eyes narrowing. "Sit."

Defied by his arrogance, Reiki sparked from her hand, but there was no alarm in his gaze, only hatred, which swirled like smoke from one golden eye to the other. " _Tch_. What a proud bastard you are." Her palm came forward. "You will mind me, dog." Reiki crackled over his skin, and his jaw tightened in a way she was all too familiar with.

To youkai, unfiltered Reiki sears like a flame, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of bending. What she paid was short of yielding the response she sought.

A heavenly brow rose, for Master Mushin was correct about Daiyoukai. For a moment, she allowed herself to be impressed with his sturdiness, to appreciate his panther-like handsomeness. Dog demons were rare, special, and he was the very definition of virility, even as the sutras on his door ensured that he was no mightier than a common lizard.

The novelty now past, her lips curled into a smirk as the intensity of her power thrummed. For years she had yearned to stretch the legs of her Reiki on a demon but none had been able to withstand a fraction of what charred Sesshomaru.

"I do believe you are a masochist." Tsubaki's chuckle was as disturbing as the evil entity in his heart. "You should know I have no objection with sadism. We're a match made in heaven, you and I." She took pause at the telltale signs of misery. Eyes shut, Sesshomaru strained a hiss through his teeth as he trembled. He had a high tolerance for pain, but this made him want to whine and scream all at once. And he wasn't sure what his cries sounded like, never having a reason to yell out so pathetically before. But he was adamant to keep that a secret from Tsubaki and himself.

His insolence pleased her. More than ever, the Miko would enjoy Sesshomaru greatly. She moved closer, her hand within his range to mangle as it hovered before fangs without fear.

"Palm of Kami," she breathed wickedly. Sesshomaru felt power draw in as if charging, then, with a crystalline whir, a beam struck him.

Deemed inhumane, Palm of God is a forbidden conjuration. It renders youkai immobile as the user takes on the role of a host, drawing in nearby Reiki from all sources. Weapons, sutras or other holy men, it didn't matter, and once mastered, the ray can even penetrate through flesh and bone.

Sesshomaru didn't utter so much as a whimper, but ultimately, he gave her the reaction she wanted. Delighted, Tsubaki grinned as he looked at her as if she had two heads. More confusion and pain than fear. He jerked his body away from what threatened to purify, his back meeting the cold wall. Furious, he kneaded a second-degree burn on his forehead. The light was so potent it warped his crescent. It broke down pigmentation and gave his birthmark a lighter shade of blue, the surrounding area an angry red.

He would be healed. The Miko would see to that shortly. It was a simple matter of disabling the third sutra on his door so his body could stitch itself together. Though, it was tempting to let him suffer. This interaction would go unrecorded; her paperwork complete and stating his last check-in was hours ago.

How rewarding it was to see the extent of her abilities. This proved she had surpassed Kikyo and her silly little barrier and healing spells.

"Sit, or I'll do it again." Given his hindrances, Sesshomaru complied and lowered to a dignified crouch. Tsubaki might have towered over him, but still, he regarded her down his fine nose. She followed the trail of silver as it dropped off his shoulder and onto the floor, and without a word, she stepped on his hair and dragged back her foot. His head wrenched, his claws clicked against the tile to prevent himself from falling over.

"Who told you to crouch? Be a good dog and sit."

Sesshomaru blinked with contempt, well aware of what her rule over him represented. She desired submission in the most offensive way imaginable. He loathed her for it. In the midst of degradation, he held his breath half to death as Reiki surged promising incomprehensible agony.

Finally, and with water clouding his vision, he joined the floor.

"Such a pretty face," she said, stroking his cheek. "You shouldn't ruin it with a grim expression. That's my job." Attacking her would forfeit his life. It was only a matter of time before her depravity was discovered, and come the day he would move forward with a new Miko, one invested in her care, not her powers. "Be strong, Sesshomaru. You and I will be close. Very close. I need you—my what a nasty look! I bet you wish I were as defenseless as that little girl you killed."

Fated with a tyrannical Miko, Sesshomaru was at the mercy of two degenerates. When he understood his reason for being there, he expected to receive world-class treatment, not this. Was it karma making her cruel rounds? Did she not care that it wasn't his fault? It might have been his hand, but it was not his mind. If any deserved to die it was the woman who had allegedly sworn to compassion. He stared miserably into her blue eyes, knowing this was the beginning of his cruel and usual treatment.

Worse of all, he couldn't tell anyone.

 ** **A/N: REVISED 1/28/19****


	4. A Demon's Prayer

**_This chapter speaks of an illness that is very serious. If anyone has ever suffered from the illness below please understand I am not making light of it for entertainment purposes._**

 ** _ **This is a dark and cynical chapter.**_**

 ** **OoOoOoOoO****

 ** **West Wing, Yokai Manor****

 ** **December 15th, 1998****

In the wall located on the other side of Sesshomaru's dark room was a hole no wider than a coin. It was hardly noticeable, a flaw one would notice if they followed the channels in between the cinder block.

To him, it was of great interest, its depth seemingly endless in the vicinity of a hallucination. Sesshomaru spent hours gazing into the hollow, uncertain when he started traveling through it, or when he climbed out into a moonlit glade, which he strode across without pause. He could smell the earthy foliage, feel the crisp fall of silk and satin against his skin, hear the pitter-patter of his ward struggling to keep pace as he cried out desperately to him.

His name came again, now from the blackness on the left end of the dale. There was movement. It broke him from his stupor, raising concerns. Hairs too. But fear was beneath him. And though his jaw clenched to steel, there were chinks in his composure. For when he glanced left something was staring back at him.

Perhaps he imagined it. It was difficult to focus. A veteran of a thousand psychic wars, Sesshomaru was deliriously fatigued. He blinked long-drawn and fitful. Whatever had rounded the corner was no longer there.

His lashes weighed down like anchors. Rest had given him the slip ever since he arrived at Yokai Manor, and at that moment, besides his freedom, Sesshomaru wanted nothing more than to sleep. Weary, his lids drooped, nearly shut, snapping wide as a disembodied pair slid into view. His gaze shot like thunder to the hole in the wall, and from behind that blind spot, it whispered his name, droning the first two syllables and gargling _maru_. And as the sickly chant caressed the fine hairs on his neck, it was then the demon elected to give religion some serious thought, before his mind collapsed into madness.

He had to address the obvious first. If he, a creature of the night, were to pray to the Gods would they answer? Or by reason of his creed, sin itself by birth, would they instead transfer his pleas to a dark line? He asked Buddha personally, confided in him and waited for a reply. Had he been forwarded? He came to hear nothing, not even his name. But maybe prayer was enough. Maybe that was why his room seemed empty again.

Boldened, his vision veered slightly left, and there was no describing the insidious activity he saw. What inhabited the dark recesses of his mind made it dishearteningly clear that it did not recognize the wrath of any God.

Sick with despair, for several hours Sesshomaru sat very still until his door opened. He had quit greeting Tsubaki with snarls moons ago. It was a waste of spirit and didn't stop her heinously cruel "treatment." If anything, it pleased her, and hers was the kind of smile he longed to disfigure. She walked in and looked around the cold walls and sink, looked at the glowing chain attached to his wrist, his face which remained emotionless. Her footsteps stopped at the edge of his bed.

"You," she said, as if unaware of his name. "Pretty dog." When he didn't react, she asked, "Did they tell you? About your family?" He envisioned his claws at her throat, piercing, silencing her for good. "They won't be visiting anymore." Sesshomaru wouldn't have called them "visits" anyway. Safety procedures had them standing outside his door while they spoke with the staff.

Still, he could have died a thousand times hearing his mother cry.

Without an ounce of worry, Tsubaki sat on his bed, sighing contently as she crossed her legs. "Apparently, they could only tolerate so much bad news. But they're paying your expenses—cash, and that's all that matters in the end. I thought you should know." Sesshomaru trembled with a deep breath. His family would forsake him? No. Not his mother. It had to be his father's idea. He would put the Taisho name and what it represented before everything. With the deepest mortification, with optimism gashed, Sesshomaru felt the isolation of his position in full. "Well," she said, patting his knee as she stood, "now that's out of the way. Would you rather stand or stay where you are? Actually, on second thought, stay on the bed. Last time I nearly threw my back out trying to pick you up off the floor."

He looked straight ahead, never making eye contact with the Miko, and never turning his body as a crackle of Reiki flared the room white and raised every hair on his body, including the down along his stomach.

 ** **OoOoOoOoO****

 ** **West Wing, Yokai Manor****

 ** **December 19th, 1998****

 ** **Wellness Check-in****

"You're working with dangerous youkai now. Nervous?"

"Nope."

"It doesn't worry you that others before you had quit or refuse to work in the West Wing?"

Koga, a clinical nurse, had jumped at the opportunity to work with Tsubaki. He had heard rumors about the mysterious patient in W13, but all anyone outside of a select few knew was that he was a critically possessed dog. He thought nothing of signing numerous confidentiality agreements. Money was on his mind, and the pay would be great.

Tsubaki scanned her badge and unlocked the door.

"So what's the deal with this one?" Koga asked. "I've got lunch in thirty and I want to get this over with." Slung over his shoulder was a temperature controlled medical bag filled with sedatives of various strengths and brands.

"He killed a little girl. An orphan."

"No shit?"

Together, they walked inside W13. "Her autopsy reported that her cause of death was "severe and cataclysmic trauma to her orbital sockets and frontal lobe."

"Poor kid."

"Mm-hmm."

The nurse flipped the light switch. "Sacred chains?"

"He's unpredictable and could eviscerate you before your guts hit the floor. You do not want _that_ to have free reign in a room you're entering." Koga knew Tsubaki was a no-nonsense priestess. Her calm conviction had relaxed the twitch in his tail. The Miko handed him Sesshomaru's highly guarded medical chart and he pulled a pen from out his scrubs.

"Extremely aggressive, doesn't like staff," he read, on occasion glancing from the folder to the dead, golden eyes across the room. "Depressed, won't eat, yadda, yadda. These are all standard symp—ah. I see. Does he ever sleep?"

"Not a wink."

Koga read on. "Says here he's being treated with anticonvulsants. A dog big as him would need larger doses, but it should knock him out for six hours. Tops."

"He's been given five and eight's. Even ten's. It does nothing for him."

Sesshomaru sat as still as death when Koga stared at him. His senses keener than the Miko, he noticed something strange. "He's breathing pretty hard," the wolf said, unlooping the bag from his shoulders.

Tsubaki played dumb. "Anxiety?"

Koga shook his head as he approached Sesshomaru. "I don't think—"

"Careful. He may appear calm but take one more step and you'll be within his reach." Koga froze where he stood.

"Good looking out. Cast a blessing, or whatever it is you guys do." As Tsubaki summoned an acceptable amount of power, she gave Sesshomaru a look. Koga snapped on latex gloves to examine him, and when he was finished his suspicions were confirmed. "He's in pain."

"Interesting." The Miko did well to hide her nervousness. "How can you tell?"

"He and I aren't' so different, dogs and wolves. We're kinda related and suffer in silence. This guy's hurting bad. I don't know why though. He doesn't have any self-inflicted injuries. Must be a lack of sleep."

"Right. So what would you recommend?"

Thinking, Koga slipped into a new pair of gloves and walked to his bag. "I could give him a stiff dose of Benzodiazepines. They're extremely addictive but so long as we're careful it should be fine. I'm writing this down now, Tsubaki. He cannot take them for more than four weeks."

Disquietingly, Sesshomaru watched Koga lift a clear vial and syringe above his head. Plucking the needle, Koga let out a low and prolonged whistle of reverence. "Now, don't you worry. You're gonna like this. This here is the good stuff, and you'll feel higher than a giraffe's ass for five minutes, then you'll pass out."

Tsubaki would remember that.

After administering the shot, the nurse stood over him while glancing at his watch. A few minutes later, he checked Sesshomaru's vitals. "Breathing is good, pulse is good— _oi_. There he goes. Off to Neverland," he chuckled, tapping his patient's brow, testing his blink response. There was a three-second delay.

"Well, that's it. Time to let sleeping dogs lie. Turn him loose, Tsubaki. It's time for lunch and I'm starving."

 **OoOoOoOoO**

 ** **Yokai Manor****

 ** **Four Years Later****

 ** **April 2002****

The mess hall opened its doors for supper at 5:30 P.M.

Drumming her nails on the table, Kagome shifted in her seat. It was now ten till six, and hard to not worry about her patient who should have been there by now.

All around her a lively assortment of youkai tucked happily into their meals, some speaking in languages beyond human comprehension. Kagome had been delighted to discover that some consisted of the most extraordinarily beautiful vocalizations she had ever heard. Like the feathery tenor of birds, the percolating clicks of dragons, or the startling falsettos of cats.

Kagome stood and smoothed out her scrubs. There was a knot forming at the bottom of her stomach as she bussed her tray and left the cafeteria.

If she walked any faster, she would've broken out into a run.

Kagome had grown attached to a teenaged fox. Others could only notice his sickness and the dark cloud that hung over him, but she saw his radiant soul. The kit was too decent for the likes of Yokai Manor, and because her qualifications were limited, she worried that treating him would be as damaging as his affliction.

On healing, Kagome was short on blessings. She couldn't erect barriers like Kikyo, nor could she focus her energy like Tsubaki, and while she could activate sutras, her real power remained a mystery. However, there were hints. At times, when dealing with her wards, she exceeded empathy as if transcending to a proxied self who felt the physical and emotional pain of others. The sensation was always fleeting and heated and set in her chest. And most curiously, after a tingly warmth had passed, her clients would sigh, as if unburdened from some weight.

Alternatively, Kagome took on the role of a psychologist and counselor, which was staggeringly inappropriate, if not negligent.

Kagome was made wise to Yokai Manor's practices during her second week. An otter, her first patient, had suffered from a personality disorder favoring the schizotypal variety. Some symptoms are interchangeable with bewitchment, but actual mental illness requires delicate and thoughtful handling, often involving methods that facilitates a humanistic approach.

She had tried to tell Master Mushin this one shift, but he dismissed her concern with a hearty laugh and a copy of the DSM-IV-TR.* The staff treated the hulking textbook as if it was the be-all manual for mental health.

Perhaps it was Mushin-sama's habit of adding a little extra something to his coffee that made him indifferent.

In the South Wing, S7's shade was drawn. Kagome heard mumbling, and the knot in her gut felt more like a writhing braid. Forgoing a knock, she swiped her badge, and with an electronic beep, the deadbolts turned and granted her access into the space of a very ill kitsune.

It was a distressing scene.

Shippo was on the floor, tears streaming down his hollowed cheeks, chest trembling. He was doing sit-ups, and Kagome could now hear what had been muffled behind the door:

"Two-hundred and ten, two-hundred and eleven..." His voice shuddering, silent sobs hitched his chest as swollen green eyes met brown. "Please stop me. Help me stop."

His pleas hopeless and dispirited, the Miko's clipboard fell to the floor as she scrambled over.

Shippo is a ward of the state. Kagome didn't need a Ph.D. in psychology to understand that an unrooted youth is a troubled one. He had been yanked from group home to foster home and back again after his parents died in a car accident. Sadly, his trauma manifested in the form of an eating disorder.

He told Kagome his illness assured control that had escaped him his entire life. In his darkest hours, insidious whispers vowed to shepherd him to salvation. In reality, it led him to the edge of a precipice, at which he would peer into the abyss and sway without fear. He stressed that with emptiness came a most wretched bliss, a feathery lightness described as euphoric, unrequited love that cast his steps adrift. But soon he couldn't control it. Rather, it commanded him, held him at gunpoint within his mind promising a deathless death. Weary, gone was his resistance because to overcome it would bring a devastating loss, to succumb to it, peace.

" _I've relapsed so many times I lost count. I hope you don't think sitting there and watching me drown in these cans of Ensure will help make me better because it won't."_

"I'm here for you, Shippo. It's going to be okay." She touched his boney shoulder, unnerved that if she wanted to she could explore the extent of his protruding scapula. What was left—a twine of a muscle and skin, made his condition so deplorable that his gown gave his shoulder blades a suspended outline that concaved and displayed the contour of each and every vertebra.

He buried his dull claws into his dry, auburn hair. "It was so much. They made me eat so much pasta, and they didn't even measure. A serving is sixty pieces with thirty grams of carbs. Exactly one-hundred and ninety calories. I know that. You know that. I told you, remember?"

Kagome's voice cracked a little. "I remember."

"But that's just the pasta. No one considered the sauce and the meat and… there was so much cheese it was practically everywhere. I had asked why so much? _Why_?" He was hysterical, and the tears he tried to hold back jumped from his eyes to hers. "Because I didn't need it and it was just in the way. I couldn't eat dinner with you tonight. I had enough for a whole week!" Though he yelled, Kagome didn't flinch. "I can still taste the grease in the back of my throat."

"Shippo," his name quivered from her lips, "it's okay to take a day of rest."

"Rest? Can't you see what it did to me?" He grabbed at nothing, gathering nothing until he managed to take a fold of blotchy skin between his splintered claws. A fissure spidered, shattering in her chest, sharpness spreading and ebbing in waves. "Do you not see the fat?"

There were bruises; protruding hip bones hoisting the elastic of his briefs which gave the impression of a bridge. She counted every rib, the weak throbs under near-transparent skin, guessed the radius of his femur.

Shippo could die.

"I'm worthless."

"You are worth and are much more than your eating disorder."

To that, he scoffed. "Then how come no one wants me? I'm not worth the money used to place me in strangers homes."

"Look at me. Don't you ever let me hear you say that again. Just because the system can't see how special you are doesn't mean you aren't."

"You're just saying that. I'm not cute anymore. No one wants me because I'm all screwed up. No one wants to love someone so broken."

She couldn't stop herself from hugging him. The kit didn't separate his body from hers, but he did freeze, seemingly unsure of what to do with the gesture.

"From the moment I first saw you I was smitten. You're loved, you know."

"Kagome..." Always she gave him comfort when nothing else could. Always she was there when he needed her to do and say the right thing.

Shippo settled his face in the crook of her neck, squeezing her tight as he wept. It was real, her compassion, her warmth. Not just the heat of her body but something he couldn't place. Like her reiki allaying his kitsune tricks, touching yet untouchable. And he wasn't sure what to make of the tingling, his ache drawing out his chest, especially not the feeling of something being pushed back in as if exchanging his anguish for something else.

Delicately, comforting words cooed in the fox's ear as she swayed gently with him, as she endured a hunger so voracious she'd thought she'd puke. Damp was her white collar as she rendered hysterical cries to the occasional hiccup. She brought her hand to Shippo's brittle, neglected hair, at which she stroked until her fingers caught. Tangled in them were his strands of lusterless auburn.

One day, Kagome swore, the strength and shine would return to his hair. She damned the system, damned his neglectful upbringing all while Shippo breathed a sigh all too familiar…

 ** **A/N: Rewritten and revised 3/10/19****

 ** _*_** _ _Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders__


End file.
